tuesday

I spent this morning at home, actively neglecting emails and recycling old wine (read: vinegar) into a hearty tomato sauce. While washing dishes, my doorbell rang. And continued ringing. There's a boy's school nearby, so I thought maybe some kids were messing with me. I peered out my peephole but couldn't see anyone. I cracked open my door just enough to see outside (and hide my uncovered legs) and found a young woman, a little girl, and an older woman on the steps of my apartment.

Hey. The young woman explained that she was Syrian, pregnant, and needed anything I could give her. I was a bit flummoxed, and asked if I could pass on phone numbers of people and organizations that could help her. I know someone, for instance, who distributes baby kits to Syrian refugees here in Jordan. But the young woman did not have a phone. In retrospect, I ought to have written down numbers for her, directed her to an NGO in the neighborhood, and called the baby-kit-distributing woman myself. But I didn't think clearly and was worried about tacitly inviting many more people to come to my house. So, instead, I gave the little girl a bottle of water and wished the women well.

I feel horrible. More than that, I feel bad for saying I feel bad: why am I focusing on my own discomfort, rather than the struggles of those around me?

This isn't the first time I've been approached by Syrians struggling in Amman. A few weeks ago, I visited a  restaurant in Jebel Hussein. It had opened recently, and boasted the Syrian versions of fuul (full beans and extra garlic) and falafel (doughnut-shaped). Shortly after I finished my food, a little boy came up to me, holding a laminated piece of paper. I bent down to say hello. The paper, I realized, was his family's copy of their UNHCR registration--a paper listing the names of his family members and an official UN stamp certifying them as refugees.

Confrontations with difference in privilege are hardly confined to Amman. Growing up in California, I grew used to seeing homeless people on street corners, grew used to the jarring contrast between their lives and my own, and grew used to driving by, justifying my decision by affirming the importance of donating to organizations rather than individuals. Who knows.

Okay, mundane moralism. You've heard this before, but I still have to ask: why the hell was I lucky enough to be born where I was born? Why have I gotten to live a life of relative security and comfort? I'm grateful beyond grateful that I've never had to flee my home and that the only lethal gunfire I've heard has been of the Hollywood variety.

Here's to hoping I remember my luck, and am a bit more prepared to help people out in the future.

employ/admit/accept/like me....please?

I've been fairly preoccupied with applications lately--mostly for graduate school, but also for work. Point is, I'm distributing my C.V. to anyone who'll look at it. Including you! (Mideast posts to resume shortly, inshallah.)

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B.S., School of Life, 2012

GPA: Not so hot

Test Scores: Smart enough

Rec Letters: I think I can get a prof to like my facebook status?

Work Experience:

Swim Coach. 6 years of progressively less-wet employment. (I don’t get in the water anymore.)

-          Convinced small child to put his face in the pool

-          Dealt with crying people—male and female, ages 5 to 20-something

-          Successfully maintained relationships with feuding families.

Babysitter. Twice.

-          Equated years of supervised play with brother to “babysitting experience”

-          Stole crackers and peanut butter from the cupboard while the kids slept

Volunteer/Leadership:

Sister. 20 years.

-          Communicate regularly with the only technology-adverse teen on the planet

-          Share things

-          Forge alliance against parents, often to procure goods, such as ice cream.

Friend. Off and on.

-          Belatedly reply to emails

Languages:

Nerd, mother tongue.

Northern California Slang, professionally proficient (see: Swim Coach).

Sarcasm, beginner.

a few days in Tel Aviv

Tara at the bomb shelter.

Smile, Tara, at least you have a bomb shelter!

I've been seething, furious. It's easier (more dignified?) to get angry than to cry.

I spent last week in Tel Aviv--just north, actually--watching the latest Gaza-Israel conflict break out. I'm used to following this process from afar. I check the news and sift through social media, where angry posts from pro-Palestinian activists alternate with angry posts from die-hard Israel supporters. Maybe I read a press release from the White House. Write a letter to a representative. Go to sleep.

I arrived in Tel Aviv Wednesday evening, just in time to visit my friend's class at IDC Herzliya. The class was taught in English, and the students, half international, were on their laptops. During break we stole food from a neighboring event and chatted a bit. "There's gonna be a war," someone said. A Hamas leader was killed in Gaza, someone else confirmed. One Israeli guy in the class was drafted to Gaza the following day, and all of the other Israeli guys in the room were summoned back to the army. 

When we returned to class, the lecturer--a visiting professor from Harvard--awkwardly acknowledged the class's distractedness. "We don't live in a bubble," he said.

Over the next few days, I spent a lot of time in my friend's apartment. I had come to Tel Aviv for a wedding, but opted not to go because I was afraid of travelling south. At home, in the apartment, we checked the news constantly. Where had the latest rocket hit? Who had friends there? Were they safe? Rockets made it to Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Were we in range? I learned what to do if I heard a siren, and located the nearest bomb shelter. The stairwell, I learned, was the safest place in the building. The ground floor was more dangerous, because it had lots of windows.

Intermittently, I slowed down to read whole news articles. I checked Al Jazeera, not just Haaretz. It was hard, while in an apartment above a bomb shelter, to find the emotional energy to read about the suffering in Gaza--the latest tally of Palestinians killed, the latest IDF activity. I was shocked by how quickly my orientation shifted, how seamlessly I had switched to an Israeli set of questions, news sources, and fears. No matter your political orientation or philosophy, personal safety comes first. And when you feel threatened, it's difficult to find the capacity to think of others--even those who are undergoing far worse.

On Thursday, the day I was supposed to go to the wedding, I stayed in Herzliya. My friend heard about a campaign going on at school, and I accompanied her to campus. A number of students were participating in "hezbara"--an advocacy campaign on behalf of the IDF. I realized this wasn't my scene, and started another project in the classroom next door.

My friend and I were desperate for something constructive--communication that could transcend the predictable, "soccer match" reporting dominating the media. We wanted to focus on the human impact of the conflict, in the hopes that, unlike traditional media/advocacy which merely "rallies the base," we might be able to encourage people to listen to each other.

So we started a YouTube channel dedicated to collecting the human voices of the conflict. We're calling it "OnTheGround2012," and we're asking people affected by the conflict to share their stories and, in particular  their hopes. We were inspired by the Hope Man Peace Man blog of the last Gaza War, and by the Israel loves Iran/Iran loves Israel media campaign this summer.

By collecting stories from both sides, I don't aim to paint equivalencies--we all know who's being hit the hardest. I don't anticipate we'll solve any political problems. But I'm eager to try to humanize this conflict a bit. Because it's so easy, when reading the news from outside, to lose track of the human reality. And it's so easy, when hanging out above a bomb shelter, to focus only on your own safety. 

Anyways, family and friends, I'm back in Jordan. The protests have calmed down here, so I'm quite safe. I've returned to watching the Gaza/Israel from a distance. I'm hoping that this all ends soon.

staying up all night

I feel a whole new sense of helplessness watching the elections from Amman. Normally, on election day, I am a bit afraid, knowing that I can do nothing to affect the outcome at this point. Theoretically I could be driving people to polls, but that's about it.

Here, I've got nothing. That desperation that keeps us watching election coverage into the night? It'll keep me up until at least six in the morning (CA polls close 6am my time).

People hailing from all over the world wish me luck, reminding me of how crucial, exactly, American elections are to the entire globe. So somehow, both the enormity of the consequences and my total lack of control over them resonate on a new level.

I'm about to walk over to an election party, wearing an Obama button and carrying a toothpick American flag. It's all I've got.

Hoping for the best.

I think we've met before?

I landed in Amman two days ago, and am re-integrating with minimal cultural shock. I moved into my apartment the day I arrived, with the help of my very kind flatmate. 

The Amman I've entered is eerily similar to the Amman I left four months ago. Webdeih has a few more restaurants. Half of the expat community has moved away, but my vegetable guy is still selling tomatoes where I saw him last.

More updates later, just wanted to send this out so my family and friends know that I have not, in fact, been trampled by protesters quite yet.

everything I learned about living in Jordan

...abbreviated. Recently, I've gotten a lot of questions from people moving to Jordan. Hope this answers a few of them!

1. Where should I live?

Here is Amman (or, at least, the best map I've found of it).  Most Jordan-based expats live here, because most Arabic programs, aid organizations, and businesses are based in the capitol.

West Amman, courtesy  these guys.

If you plan to move to Amman for the first time, I'd consider these neighborhoods:

• Jabal Amman (1st- 3rd circles). Nearly every guidebook and NYT travel piece extols Rainbow Street, on 1st Circle. Home to nice cafes, shops, and restaurants. Lively and walk-able; the walk from 3rd to 1st circle is maybe 15 minutes. I've run near 3rd, but haven't tried running closer to 2nd/1st, and doubt I'd find it comfortable. Expats are present, as is English, especially on Rainbow.
• Shmeisani. More liberal-leaning residential neighborhood. Taxis can be a pain, but this neighborhood is a bit closer to Qasid, University of Jordan, and the higher circles. I've run here. Again home to a number of expats, and English is present but not as ubiquitous as on Rainbow.
• Jabal Al Webdeih. My favorite place. A few less-strategically-critical embassies are here, as is the French Cultural Center. Walk-able, though a bit removed from the much of the city; taxis out to the higher circles can get pricey. That said, it's close to downtown and a 20-30min walk from 1st Circle. I've run here. English is avoidable...unless you run into one your many expat neighbors.
• Abdoun. Home to the American Embassy and many affluent Ammanis. Big malls, Western chains, and removed from the activity of downtown and the lower circles. Girls can get away with running here. Reasonably-priced apartments are rarer but present. A lot of English.

All of the above are home to some reasonably-priced apartments (I'd aim to pay somewhere between 120JD-250JD, before utilities, for a furnished apartment with roommates.) Other neighborhoods I've lived in and/or visited:

• Tel Al 'Ali & Duhayat Al Rashid. Near the University of Jordan and Qasid. Prices tend to be better. If you're near Queen Alia Street (more commonly referred to as "sharia jaamia"), you'll be able to access the micro-buses, which are a cheap and safe way to travel the length of sharia jaamia. I'd never run here, and, as a woman, don't feel comfortable walking here at night. 
• Jabal Hussein. A largely-Palestinian residential neighborhood with decidedly fewer expats. Reasonable housing, though I've heard that it can be tough for guys to find apartments here (women are perceived as less threatening). I'd never run here and don't feel comfortable walking around alone at night.
• Swefeih:  From my experience, much like Abdoun, though a bit more out-of-the-way. Unless you plan to work near the higher circles, in which case this could be great.
• East Amman: Ok, more than one neighborhood. Much of East Amman is not on the map above. Generally speaking, this is a less-affluent area of Amman, with much less English and much fewer expats.

Outside of Amman, everything's cheaper. One-bedroom apartments are often under 90JD. 

2. How can I find a place to live?

If you're looking for an apartment,

• Browse expatriates.com A great source. Turnover can be pretty fast. 
• Walk around the neighborhood you're interested in. You'll see phone numbers posted in windows advertising شقة مفروشة (shukka mafrusha, a furnished appartment) or  شقة غير مفروشة (shukka ghayer mafrusha, an unfurnished appartment). Call the number; you can usually schedule a viewing that day.

All-female student dorms are located around University of Jordan. They can be considerably cheaper than apartments, but often come with curfews. Walk around the main gate of UJ and ask for a سكن طلاب (sakan tulab, student dorm). Pop in when you find one to inquire about prices and vacancies.

Some people like ACOR housing though I think it's pretty exorbitant. Others try homestays, but, unless you're in a study abroad program, you really have to connect with a family on your own to make that happen. 

3. I want to learn Arabic. How do I learn Arabic. 

Being in an Arabic-speaking country is no ticket to fluency. You can navigate Amman fairly easily without using a word of Arabic. Outside of classes, make an effort to practice Arabic--even if friends/taxi drivers/random passersby consistently respond in English.

Programs that people like: 

• Qasid has great fusHa and classical tracks. I've heard mixed reviews of its amiyya (though I have mixed feelings about teaching amiyya in a classroom setting in the first place...)
• Ali Baba was the first place where I took classes. Flexible dates though much pricer. Great teaching.
• The French Cultural Center has excellent evening amiyya courses. It's located just off of Paris Circle; there are quite a few signs and an armed guard outside. If you can find evidence of the French Cultural Center online, you are a better person than me.
• The Kelsey Program. Ok, I don't actually know anyone who's done this, but word is it's good. Though you do have to sign a piece of paper confirming that Jesus is your personal lord and savior.

Tutors are available through most of the programs I mentioned above, though you can find excellent and affordable (5-15 JD/hour) tutors if you ask around. Fulbright has a list. Make a friend and ask to see it.

Language partners are a free (and often culturally-enriching) way of practicing Arabic. A number of friends met up with language partners at cafes: they'd talk in English for a half-hour, and Arabic for the other half. Or something like that. My blonde, female roommate got approached to be a language partner nearly every day she stepped foot on the UJ campus, but others can find partners too. Just ask around.

Just talk to people. Really. Do it. Even if you sound like a fool. You can study verb charts anywhere in the world; don't pass up the opportunity to try out your new verbs in actual conversations.


3. How do I pay for it?

I don't know. Here are some thoughts:

I worked before I moved, and picked up odd jobs in Amman when possible. Most Arabic scholarships I found required significant advance planning and current student status. Qasid offers some financial help, though it's limited and the criteria are vague. Some friends taught English. Athletes had luck coaching. Generally speaking, you get bonus points for being a college grad from the West. Be social, express interest in working, and you'll be surprised what opportunities present themselves.


4. What should I wear?

Guys: Wear pants.

Girls: It depends upon where you're walking. You'll feel most comfortable with your legs and shoulders covered. Short-sleeves are ok in Amman, though no low necklines. Looser clothing is better (though, full disclosure, I wore skinny jeans).

Sidenote on street harassment: It can be shocking and tough to get used to. Women, unless you wear a niqab, street harassment is pretty much unavoidable. Walk around with friends until you can differentiate between everyday harassment and threatening harassment. If a car follows you, snap a picture of its licence plate and call 911. Or mime doing so--this can work too. If a guy follows you, and there are other people around, make a scene. Ask why he's following you. People on the street will take your side.  Know that street harassment gets easier to navigate over time.


5. How do I get an internship/job/volunteer position/something else to do?

Talk to people. Most of my opportunities came through my friends, before anyone had a chance to look at my resume. Calling is better than emailing, and knocking on a door is better than calling. Jordan's a small country, so there are fewer degrees of separation between everyone. Make friends! If they can't help you, they will know people who can.


6. Religion.

Email me with any questions.



That's it for now. Happy travels!

p.s. I'm keeping this (moderately) open-source. Friends, please feel free to correct/add to any of the above.

3adi: things I got used to

I'm en route to America after 9+ months in the Middle East. I've heard America's a strange place. There are bare legs, big cars, and no calls to prayer to wake me up in the morning (or to chastise me for staying up way too late).

I've honestly forgotten a lot and am terrified of returning.

Here's why. If there's one thing I've learned while abroad, it's that you can get used to anything. Sure, I got used to simple things--pleasantries in Arabic, sugary tea, wearing pants in the summer--but I expected that.

A few nights ago, around 11pm, I got tired and decided to leave a coffee shop. My apartment was a 20 minute walk (or 1.20 JD cab ride) away; I opted to walk. On my way home, shabab (young men) called out to me, a guy leaned out of a car to whistle at me, and a car pulled over to my spot on the sidewalk, expecting me to get in. I was entirely unaffected, 3adi.

3adi is a convenient word fusing "typical," "ok," and "no big deal." During my first few months in Jordan, this unwanted attention would have upset me, understandably. I might have opted to take a cab home to avoid the catcalls. But after spending nearly a year out here, I don't mind. I sort of expect it, actually, and notice its absence more than its presence.

I'm afraid of returning to the States because I suspect I'll discover things, like street harassment, which had become invisible to me over time. If something as unsettling as a stranger thinking you're a prostitute can become 3adi, what awful things have I acclimated to in America?

The beauty of travel is that it allows you to evaluate your own culture through a new lens. I see this as an opportunity to carry the nice things back home, and dispose of whatever doesn't fit. I know I'll be bringing back some of the kinder elements of Jordan: the way that people value relationships, a humility about our own abilities, and an appreciation for sharing. But I have no idea what I'll find in the US.

Here's to hoping that I'll be able to cherry-pick the best of both worlds. Wish me luck!

p.s. Not quite done with this blog yet...having too much fun. Later this summer, I hope to write about:

• Syrian refugees in Jordan,
• my visit to Cairo, and
• culture shock 2.0: ways that America is crazy